


I Won’t Sleep Tonight

by chaoticallyclev



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-07
Updated: 2010-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:27:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticallyclev/pseuds/chaoticallyclev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second semester, Jeremy inexplicably takes up woodshop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won’t Sleep Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through 2x07 Masquerade  
> Title from Animal by Neon Trees, since I was feeling very unoriginal today. This was betaed by [](http://piecesof-reeses.livejournal.com/profile)[**piecesof_reeses**](http://piecesof-reeses.livejournal.com/) who is awesome and deserves more love all the time from everyone. Oh, and jeremy’s bashful head thing, in case you need a reference: [ the third pic.](http://community.livejournal.com/jeremytyler/55216.html#cutid1)  
> 

  


  
  


  


  
**I Won’t Sleep Tonight**   


Second semester, Jeremy inexplicably takes up woodshop.

Tyler didn’t even know that they _had_ a woodshop course, let alone that Gilbert had some strange desire to piece together birdhouses, but whatever. Tyler shoots him the usual “you’re such a freak, Gilbert” look and ends up spending most of fifth period in the workshop anyway. Really, it would be in his best interest to go to his own class since this whole differentiating crap is going over his head, but lately, he hasn’t been too concerned with doing things that are in his best interest. Otherwise, he’d probably be in anger management counseling instead of at school at all. Besides, Gilbert and calculus are about the same level of confusing, but one has more entertainment value.

Jeremy has clearly never touched a power tool in his life.

He should stick to art, and hopefully move beyond this wolf obsession— one sketchbook full is more than enough—but Jeremy doesn’t seem too concerned with doing things that are in his own self-interest, either. Just another in the growing list of things they have in common, not that Tyler’s going to mention it. Gilbert would probably try to bond with him again, and Tyler can’t take that crap. Yeah, dead daddy issues and they both tried to screw the same girl. That’s just a bond for life right there.

He can’t even blame Gilbert for it that much, given his sister. Maybe the bonding and emotional connection bullshit is a family trait. Like how his family apparently gets furry every full moon. Everyone has their flaws.

Speaking of which—

“You know how pathetic it’s going to be when you fail _woodshop_?” Tyler asks, staring incredulously at the mangled stick of wood in Jeremy’s hands.

“Shut up, Tyler,” Jeremy mutters darkly. “This is harder than it looks.”

Tyler blinks. “Jeremy, it’s a piece of wood. You nail it to another piece of wood. What is so hard about that?”

Jeremy says nothing, just continues slicing at the wood with a determined set to his jaw.

:::

One day when Tyler shows up to the workshop, he catches the tail end of Elena and Jeremy’s conversation—and how nauseating is it that she walked him to class?—where she reminds him to always wear protective gear like he’s a five-year-old learning how to ride a bike. Sure, the guy’s baby-faced and all, but still. Look both ways before crossing the street, Jeremy. Don’t stick your finger into electrical outlets, Jeremy.

“Don’t even,” Jeremy warns Tyler when he walks over and drops his backpack on the floor.

“What? She’s right; splinters are serious business, man.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes before returning his focus to the piece of wood he’s mutilating. “You’re such an ass.”

Tyler shrugs and doesn’t dispute the point. “What the hell are you doing, anyway? Don’t people usually make like, spice racks and crap in these classes?”

Making a noncommittal noise, Jeremy nibbles on his lower lip.

“You really are going to fail woodshop, aren’t you?”

“No! I just—whittling is hard, okay? I’d like to see you do any better.”

Tyler eyes the scrap of woodchips all over the desk dubiously. “I think a Chihuahua could do better, and they don’t even have opposable thumbs.”

Maybe provoking Jeremy while he’s whittling was a mistake.

For future reference, slamming sharp objects around usually leads to injury. Very bloody injury. See current moment of Jeremy’s mangled stick of wood embedded in his palm and dripping red all over the place.

Tyler swallows harshly.

“Motherfucker,” Jeremy swears.

“Mr. Gilbert! There’s no need for—oh. That’s quite a nasty little cut you got there.” Mr. Pearson peers over Jeremy’s shoulder at his hand.

“Little?” Jeremy says incredulously, face scrunched in pain.

“Yes, yes, well. Off to the nurse you go. Can’t have you bleeding all over the workshop.” Mr. Pearson shoos him along and turns to inspect another student’s project.

“I hate that guy,” Jeremy mutters.

“Yeah, he’s a nutcase, got it. Just—leave that thing in and we’ll get you to the nurse.” Tyler grimaces. That’s just—so wrong. Maybe they should have the counselors approve woodshop electives.

Jeremy ignores him, of course, and tugs it out with a few more curses. Then he grabs some paper towels from the roll by the sink and heads down the hall, with Tyler behind him.

When they round the corner, they stumble smack dab in the middle of Elena and Stefan’s conversation. A serious one, from the looks of their scrunched foreheads and frowns. Not that that’s saying much. They only seem to have two modes of interaction, sickeningly in love and overly broody. It’s like bipolar relationship disorder or some shit.

“Stefan, I just. I can’t do this anymore. It’s—Jeremy! What happened to your hand?”

And just like that, Elena’s in mother hen mode, grabbing Jeremy’s hand for closer inspection and glaring at Tyler like it’s somehow his fault that Jeremy’s an accident magnet.

“It’s nothing. Just a stupid accident.” Jeremy tugs his hand back sullenly.

“Yeah, genius over here stabbed himself with the mess he was whittling,” Tyler says, earning him twin glares from the Gilberts. His knee-jerk reaction is to spread his hands in a gesture of innocence, but they’re already back to ignoring him in favor for gripping at each other. Sometimes— most times— Tyler’s really glad he’s an only child.

That’s when he notices Stefan’s grimace, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall behind Tyler. Jeez. It’s just some blood. Salvatore should chill out.

He opens his mouth to say as much, but Jeremy’s already brushing past Elena while shooting off some petulant bullshit that Tyler doesn’t quite catch. But everyone’s seen some variation of this scene at least seven times a month. Elena with her scrunched forehead and worrying lips and Jeremy with his hunched shoulders and it’s none of your fucking business written all over his face. She tells him to take care of himself, he tells her to fuck off. It’s getting kind of old.

“You’re not as invincible as you think!” Elena shouts after him. Jeremy lifts up his hand in response.

Well, Tyler isn’t going to hang around with the broodiest couple of the year, so he takes off, hands jammed into his pockets. There’s got to be something interesting to do around here that doesn’t involve the fucking nurse’s office.

:::

There’s no love lost between Tyler and Caroline Forbes. He’s a self-absorbed jackass jock, and she’s a self-absorbed goody two shoes who dated his best friend. They don’t interact much, and they really don’t feel the need to. Or at least Tyler doesn’t. Which doesn’t explain why Caroline’s coming over to his table at the Grill.

“Hi,” she says, pulling her lips into a thin attempt at a smile. She tugs on her sleeves before sitting down.

“What do you want, Forbes?” he asks, eyes narrowed. There’s been something off about her lately. Maybe her brain got a little scrambled in that car accident but, something’s just been bugging him about the changes in her demeanor.

The Caroline Forbes he knows would never just take this whole break-up with Matt like this. Wouldn’t ignore his pathetic little looks with such steadfast determination. And she definitely wouldn’t seek out Tyler just to plaster on a strained smile and say, “Nothing. I just—haven’t talked to you since. Well, everything.”

It’s fucking strange.

Tyler raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, because we were so chatty before.”

“Well, we at least talked. On occasion. And I didn’t ever get a chance to say that—I don’t blame you for the car crash, or whatever. I know it wasn’t your fault. And, not that I think you need me to tell you that, but I just thought you should know.” She says it all in a rush, her eyes earnest and kind of desperate, smile still in place.

“Okay.” Tyler shrugs. “Now I know.”

“Good, that’s—good.” She slides out of her seat and turns to leave, only to stop short and look back over her shoulder. “Tyler?”

“What?” Tyler looks up at her, impatient.

She bites her lip. “I know we’ve never been close, but I just want you to know that— I don’t know. You’re not alone in this.”

“In what, Forbes?” he asks carefully, voice pitched low.

She gives a little shrug. “The thing with your dad, and all. Just—people are here for you, if you need them.”

And with that she takes off, winding her way through the bar to avoid passing Matt where he’s bussing tables.

Like he said, fucking weird.

:::

One of the disturbing things about Mystic Falls is that, there’s really only the Mystic Grill to hang out in. So you see a lot of things, like, say, your history teacher knocking back drinks with the oldest Salvatore brother. Or as Tyler like to think of him, the Dick. Sure, the guy has this whole charismatic shit going down, but he’s still an asshole. Take the whole thing with Caroline earlier this year. Like he said, the guy’s a dick.

Anyway, no one should have to see that on a Friday night. Well, no one should have to see their teachers outside of school ever, but Mr. Saltzman isn’t all that bad. Still, it kind of puts a damper on any prospects of fun, so Tyler always tries to clear out of there as quickly as possible. He still overhears more than enough, though.

“So visiting Mr. Pearson was just—social? Right, that totally makes sense, given your previous interest in the school.”

“I’m just saying. Whittling is unimportant. It’s _boring_. Just because I’m showing an interest in improving the school’s curriculum doesn’t mean I have any nefarious plots in the works,” Salvatore says, gesturing with his glass.

“Well, I’m not that worried. Mr. Pearson’s plenty crazy enough without your help; I’m sure you can’t make it that much worse,” Mr. Saltzman says with a shrug.

“I can make _anything_ worse.”

Then Mr. Saltzman actually pats Salvatore on the back while shooting off a flippant, “Fine. Damon, don’t make it worse.”

:::

On Monday, Jeremy’s hand is entirely healed. Like, not even scabbed-over healed, but good-as-new-healed. Pointing it out just got him a shitty attempt at denial from Jeremy.

“Yeah, um. There was just—it looked worse than it was. Lot of blood, little scratch. Plus, you know, I’m a fast healer.”

Tyler smells bullshit.

Then Jeremy does that thing—the thing where he ducks his head and acts all bashful and innocent and his eyelashes get insanely long. The thing he always does on purpose, Tyler swears.

“I’m onto you, Gilbert,” Tyler says, narrowing his eyes.

Jeremy’s head pops back up. He nibbles on his bottom lip for a second before responding. “Wha? I’m not doing anything.”

Tyler raises his eyebrows. “Uh-huh.”

Gilbert is kind of a shit liar. But Tyler’s got to give him credit for committing; he doesn’t think Jeremy’s eyes can get any wider without popping out of his head.

The innocent expression stays firmly on Jeremy’s face, as ridiculous as it looks, until Tyler gives up on getting any _useful_ conversation out of Jeremy today and just heads back to class. Differentiation is beginning to make more sense than Gilbert these days, and that’s saying something. Especially since Tyler hasn’t bothered going to class for a week.

:::

Jeremy seems to abandon whatever he was attempting to whittle in favor of actually working on the assignment, which isn’t a spice rack or a birdhouse. It’s a table. Or—well, that’s what Jeremy tells him it’s supposed to be. All Tyler’s getting is some pretty strong flashbacks to Eeyore’s stick lean-to that kept collapsing.

The whittling comes back by the end of the week. Tyler is amazed to think of this as some sign of improvement in Jeremy’s craftsmanship abilities. At least the knife and the wood bits are staying out of Jeremy’s skin, and there aren’t any flashbacks to Winnie the Pooh. Small victories.

“Okay, seriously. Not that this isn’t better than that sad excuse of sticks you were trying to pass off as a table—and I don’t even want to know what you did to that lumber to get it to look like that—what the hell are you trying to make?” Tyler asks, not really expecting an answer. It’s habit to ask, just like it’s habit for Gilbert to ignore him and continue stabbing angrily at the wood. Except—

Jeremy sighs. “I’m making stakes, okay?”

Wait— “Stakes? Like you stick into the ground so your tent doesn’t blow away?”

“N—sure. Yeah, let’s go with that.” Jeremy tosses the mangled sliver of wood onto the desk and reaches for a new piece.

This had better not be a sign that Jeremy is going camping anytime soon. If this whittling thing is any indication of his survival skills, even one of those campgrounds with the bathrooms ten feet away wouldn’t be enough for him to get through the night.

“So, are you going camping or something?”

“No!” Jeremy rolls his eyes and scoffs.

Whatever. Tyler isn’t the one failing a class to make tent stakes. Not like you can’t buy this everywhere anyway. Or couldn’t just beat a stick into the ground as a make-shift stake. But Gilbert’s always been a strange one.

Jeremy clears his throat and does his earnest eyebrow scrunch. “So, uh. Any more news on that whole— you know. Family thing your uncle was telling you about?”

“Smooth, dude.” Tyler shifts back against the workbench, bracing his hands on the surface. “Nah. He’s still MIA, anyway, so.”

“That sucks.” Jeremy looks up at him for a second, just a quick sideways flick of his eyes, with something like guilt lingering there.

“Sure, well.” Tyler shrugs. “It is what it is; the guy’s always been a flake.”

“Yeah, but still.” Jeremy drops his eyes back to his task. “Well, I saw some more stuff in the library, if you were interested.”

Tyler shakes his head. “I meant it, Gilbert. I don’t want to be involved in any of that crap. And I don’t think reading _Twilight_ is going to help me anyway.”

“I wasn’t—never mind. Just, Tyler? You’re involved whether you want to be or not. Maybe not fully, not right now, but. Shit happens. And sometimes, the best we can do is try to be prepared.”

“Uh-huh. No, seriously. Are you thinking about joining the Boy Scout troop or something?”

He takes Jeremy’s sigh as a victory.

:::

It’s the morning after the party, and Tyler’s sitting in the woods wondering how the hell this became his life. He tries not to remember the sight of Sarah’s crumpled body, or the strangeness in Caroline’s movements. He can only deal with so much in a short amount of time, and he’s kind of stuck on the knowledge that, with the next full moon, he’s going to become an actual, bona fide wolf.

He’s just sitting on the bench, trying to process, when Gilbert comes and sits next to him. It’s still pretty quiet around town, most people sleeping off hangovers or, in Matt’s case, a blow to the head from their suddenly-strong ex-girlfriend.

Jeremy draws in a quiet breath and Tyler just _knows_ that he’s going to ask something that he just—can’t deal with right now.

“You’re totally failing woodshop, aren’t you?” Tyler asks, effectively cutting off whatever Jeremy was about to say.

“Shut up. I saw your grade on that last math test.”

“Yeah, because failing calculus is totally the same as failing woodshop.”

Jeremy shrugs, his lips pulling to one side as he responds, “All I’m saying, is people in glass houses.”

Tyler grimaces, and part of him wants to push at Jeremy’s shoulder, but his hands stay firmly in his lap, remembering the too-strong force from last night and—no. He’s not thinking about that now. He’s not.

“So,” Tyler draws in a deep breath, “what was it you were telling me you saw in the library? About that—family thing?”

He tries not to notice how Jeremy’s eyes widen for a second before he furrows his eyebrows, nibbling on his lower lip again.

And then he says, “Okay, so, there’s this Aztec curse, right?”

  



End file.
